Torches
by hold-that-thought
Summary: Game over, reset. Five months after Not Fade Away, Gunn, Spike, and Illyria start over in New York City. They quickly find out they're not alone. (WIP)
1. New Beginnings

**Title**: Torches  
**Author**: hold that thought  
**Summary**: Game over, reset. Five months after Not Fade Away, Gunn, Spike, and Illyria start over in New York City.  
**Pairings**: _pending_  
**Rating**: R  
**Spoilers**: Through Chosen and Not Fade Away  
**Feedback**: Greatly appreciated.  
**Archive**: More than likely okay, but please ask first.  
**Disclaimer**: The characters used within are the property of Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, and of course Joss Whedon. It's their sandbox, I'm just playing in it.  
**Notes**: Okay, I must be suicidal, because I'm doing something I've never done before - posting a WIP as I write it. I hope to have updates regularly and without too much wait between, but each chapter is lengthier than most of my stories are whole. I can tell you there will be 10 chapters total, and that it's largely gen, though the shipping intentions should be made clear by Chapter 4 or so. I'm leaving some of the characters off this page for the first few chapters at least, since they're supposed to be surprises for the first chapter. Lilah and Wesley won't be appearing, and though Buffy won't be making an appearance, the story will be Spike/Buffy friendly. Mostly, I hope people have as much fun reading this as I'm having writing it.  
Thanks so much to **Soda** for the beta. Chapter titles come from the album "What It Is to Burn" by Finch. (Started 07/25/04)

* * *

**Chapter One: New Beginnings**

"All right, kiddies, rise and shine." Spike flicked Gunn on the forehead. Hard.

Gunn kept his eyes closed, rolling away from the intrusion and landing smack against the cold metal wall of the train. Beside him, he heard Illyria shift in her seat. 

"I was not sleeping." 

"'Course not," Spike said. 

"I was merely allowing my eyes to rest." 

"Never said different." 

Though Gunn continued to feign sleep, he couldn't help but groan softly. There'd been variations on this conversation every morning for the past several months. At least after the first two months she'd stopped tacking "you insolent half-breed" onto the end of everything. Progress was progress. 

When he finally risked opening his eyes, Gunn was greeted by the sight of Spike peering at him from over the top of his seatback, a wide grin on his face. "Welcome to New York, Chuck." 

Gunn looked out the window into the stretching darkness. "Don't look like much to me." 

"That's because we're under Penn Station, you git. Come on, get your bags, we have to get a move on." 

Illyria stood up and reached for their bags in the overhead rack, grabbing all three and swinging them down easily. In the process, she almost took the head off a middle-aged female passenger who was heading down the aisle, but the other woman seemed too surprised by the tiny girl hefting huge bags to be upset by the near-decapitation. 

They'd told Illyria to maintain Fred's appearance while they were traveling - it was hard enough staying low-key without Punk Xena around. Truth told, Gunn almost preferred the stares Illyria got in her usual form. Waking up next to something that looked like Fred but wasn't.... 

Not like he even remembered what the hell happened. Not really. As the three of them were leaving Los Angeles, the Senior Partners made one final strike, hoovering out all the law knowledge they'd stuck up in Gunn's brain a few months before. Nasty side effect left him totally blank on almost everything that had happened after joining Wolfram and Hart. Know what it's like to wake up one day and find out three of your best friends died in the past few months? Find out you're traveling with the thing that killed one of them, and your boss has been sucked into some unknown hell dimension because he took on the Big Bad and they didn't appreciate it? Realize the only one with any freaking idea what was going on was some previously-dead-currently-undead vampire you barely even knew? 

Yeah. 

On top of that, Spike said the Senior Partners might or might not want the three of them dead, so they'd be smart to take off to parts unknown. Which apparently meant New York City, since Spike claimed to have connections there. 

Of course, Spike had also claimed to have connections in New Orleans. Turns out "connections" was more like "bunch of scary-assed demons that Spike owed a lot of money." They made it out of Louisiana in one piece, barely, but Gunn was still apprehensive as to what New York held in store for them. 

Together, they left the train, weaving through the crowd that seemed evenly split between gawking tourists and crabby commuters. Gunn wanted to say that at least nobody -- besides them -- was carrying bags full of battle axes and throwing stars, but he remembered enough from Wolfram and Hart to know an average briefcase could hold an impressive mini-arsenal. And some of his fellow passengers sure looked surly enough to be packing. 

"Lots of people around," he murmured to Spike. 

"Hadn't noticed," Spike smirked back. 

"Just sayin', seems like there's a good chance we'll run into someone from Wolfram and Hart who knows we're the enemy now." 

Spike shrugged. "Even better chance we'll get lost in the crowd. Did you have a better idea?" 

Gunn had to admit he didn't. There were times in his life he'd felt like he was lacking a clear path and purpose. Like when Alonna got killed. Or the times when he'd had to choose between his old crew from the streets and his new crew from Angel Investigations. Or right after Cordelia's blood, administered by Angel, had brought his happy, Jasmine-centered world crashing down around his feet. But Gunn had never felt so lost as he did waking up in a crappy, smelly hotel room with Spike and Illyria, no memories of the past year and nothing making sense. Even when Spike explained it repeatedly. So yeah, Gunn had been content living the past five months adrift, easily following Spike's lead with whatever the crazy-assed vamp wanted to do. Things weren't about to change now. 

As soon as they hit the street, Illyria cocked her head in that weird, bird-like way of hers and sniffed the air. Stopping dead in her tracks, she said, "That wagon is emitting an acrid stench." 

"That's a pretzel cart, love." Spike tugged on her arm. 

When she fixed a deathly gaze on him, Spike didn't flinch. Gunn, however, did. Girl was downright spooky sometimes. He'd been traveling with her for months, couldn't even remember what she was like with her full range of powers, and she still spooked him out. 

"That smell. In my time, it signaled death. Destruction. Chaos." 

Spike was already pulling out his wallet. "You want one, too?" he asked Gunn. 

"Naw." Shifting his heavy backpack to the other shoulder, Gunn said, "I just wanna get to wherever we're crashing. We, uh, do have somewhere to crash, right?" 

"Two," Spike said, giving the pretzel vendor a few crisp dollar bills. 

"Right?" Gunn repeated. 

"You worry too much, Charlie boy." 

"Worry about becoming another one of the Big Apple's homeless bums, yeah." Gunn winced as one of the passing aforementioned bums gave him a dirty look. 

"I said I have connections here. Just trust me," Spike said, handing Illyria a pretzel. 

Weirdest thing about their little trio was the way Spike acted like an indulgent father, lavishing attention on Illyria. It was even weirder when Illyria looked like Fred, beaming up at Spike with a smile that said she was a proud, ancient warrior who was nonetheless pleased with the half-breed's affection. 

They began to walk downtown, the crowd thinning as the street numbers fell, until they were standing at 7th and 21st with only the occasional other person flitting by. Gunn shivered in the cool October air. Yeah, he'd spent years on the street, sometimes just a few scraps of sheet metal and his crew's warm bodies huddled around him keeping the elements away. But New York was practically a tundra compared to L.A. 

At least Gunn didn't have to totally fend for himself. He had...probably the freakiest traveling companions a person could ask for. But at least he could rely on them. 

Spike turned to him, clapped him on the shoulder, and said, "Okay, here's where we part ways." 

Oh. Lifting his chin and plastering a wide smile on his face, Gunn took a deep breath and said, "A'ight, then." He stuck his hand out at Spike and said, "See you around." 

The vampire rolled his eyes and batted Gunn's hand away. "Not permanently, you gonk. The contacts I have to meet get a little...twitchy...'round humans. Me and Big Blue will pay 'em a visit. You think you can find a way to amuse yourself for a couple hours?" 

"Aw, yeah, no problem. Plenty of bars around here. Plenty of fly honeys to chat up." 

"Right." Spike looked at him, head cocked and lips set in a line that said he was about two seconds from calling bullshit on Gunn's ass. "Make sure all your bits stay attached," he finally said. 

"You got it," Gunn smiled. "Call me when you finish your thing?" 

"If I can keep Illyria from chewing on the cellphone again." 

Apparently, Old Ones came equipped with slight oral fixations. 

Gunn looked around the near-empty street. "Speaking of...." 

"Bugger," Spike sighed. "Where'd she wander off to this time?" 

It wasn't like she couldn't handle herself, but they weren't in the mood to clean up whatever mess she might make. Not after the South Carolina incident, anyway. 

Gunn started reaching for the pickaxe in his backpack. "I'll take downtown, you take--" 

"Charles!" Fred's Texas twang echoed from around the corner. "Charles, Spike, come quick!" 

With an apprehensive glance towards each other, they took off down the block, rounding the corner and almost crashing into their source of constant amusement and frustration. 

"Charles, look," Illyria said, wrapping her arm around his and beaming. "Isn't it amazing?" 

The amazing sight that had apparently captured her attention was a man painted head to toe in silver, making slow, jerky movements like a robot. Well, a robot or a guy painted silver and twitching. Gunn understood street performance; L.A. had its share of it. But he didn't understand performing when no one was around. 

And there was that whole Illyria-as-Fred thing again. Why couldn't she stick to the creeptastic monotone voice she usually used? Pulling out the dead friend routine was getting old. 

"Right," Spike said, grabbing her arm and gently leading her away. Over his shoulder, he shouted, "All bits attached!" 

He watched them go, shook his head, and started walking downtown again. Spike apparently thought Gunn was gonna go and get himself killed battling demons. 

Maybe he wasn't wrong. 

The first ten blocks were dead silent. No beasties of the supernatural _or_ city-dwelling variety. So far, New York City wasn't turning out to be all that different from downtown L.A., New Orleans, or any of the other big cities they'd hit. It wasn't until he reached 10th and cut across towards the east that he started picking up vamp vibes. Then again, that could have been the swarms of teenagers dressed up like something out of Anne Rice's nightmares. 

By the time Gunn had walked past hordes of skaters, businessmen, and artsy types of indeterminate gender, he was itching for something to fight. And judging by the muffled screams coming from the park across the street, he was about to get his wish. 

"Now we're talking," he said, sprinting into the park and pulling a stake from his pocket. 

He was just about to swoop in and save the pretty blonde girl from getting chowed on by the big, ugly vamp when he was roughly pushed aside. 

"Sorry, this one's mine," the pusher said, not bothering to give Gunn a second glance before tearing into the vamp, all fists and kicks until it was good and dusty. 

That's when Gunn got a chance to look at the new player. 

He blinked, then clapped his hand over the top of his head, rolled his eyes upwards, and said: "You have _got_ to be kidding me." 

"Good to see you, too," Faith said, grinning and pushing a lock of hair out of her face. 

"A hell dimension," Faith repeated as they crossed the street. 

Gunn nodded. "Past few months." 

"And no one's tried to get him out?" 

"We tried. At least, that's what Spike told me." 

"Spike, right. Run that by me again? He came back from the dead out of a necklace?" 

"So they tell me. You really live around here?" They'd been walking a good twenty minutes, and the further west they went, the nicer the surroundings got, until they were smack in the middle of wide, clean streets and posh buildings. 

"Yup. The new Council foots the bill for all of us." 

Before Gunn could ask who "us" was, his cell phone started bleating a tinny version of the Spider-Man theme. "Not a word," he said in the face of Faith's smirk. "Hello?" 

"All (crash) done on this end, mate. (thonk)" 

"Spike? You okay over there?" 

"(smack) Nothing to worry about." 

In the background, he could hear Illyria cursing a blue streak, something to the effect of insolent mud-crawlers disrespecting the once and future God-King. Business as usual. "You got everything settled?" 

"That's Spike?" Faith said beside him. Gunn nodded. 

"Who's that?" Spike asked. 

"I'll explain later." 

"Gimme the phone," Faith said. Gunn held up his hand. She sighed and plucked it from his grip. 

"Hey!" he started to protest, but she already had it up against her ear, playing catch-up with an apparently old acquaintance. 

Gunn took the opportunity to get a better look at her, something he hadn't really had the chance to do yet. It'd been about a year and a half since she helped them track down Angelus, and Faith looked pretty much the same. A few vibrant streaks of red ran through her hair now, and she'd picked up a small scar on the side of her cheek. As she threw back her head and guffawed at something Spike said on the phone, he caught a glimpse of the scar Angelus had left behind on her neck, courtesy Wesley's brilliant plan. 

Wesley. Spike said they'd pretty much patched up their relationship by the end, right before the world went to hell. Illyria hinted that Spike's version might have been slightly edited, but still. It hurt knowing he'd found a way to rebuild a bond with his best friend when most of his actual last memories of the guy involved brawling over this imagined hurt or that childish slight. Losing memories might not be a bad thing sometimes -- Gunn could think of a few childhood years he'd happily dump -- but losing everything from such a pivotal time? Well, hey, maybe the Senior Partners didn't have to lay their hands on him to torture him. 

"Earth to Gunn," Faith said, snapping her fingers in his face. 

"Huh? Oh, sorry, what?" 

"I said we're here." She gave Gunn his phone back. "Gave Blondie the address, he said he and someone with a funky name will be here in a little while." 

"Cool." 

He followed her into the imposing white brick building just off Fifth Avenue. Faith stopped by the doorman (doorman!) and told him to let Spike up when he arrived, then led Gunn to the bank of elevators. 

"Man," he whistled, taking in the gold-and-white decor. "This Council of yours hiring?" 

"Always," she replied, jabbing the up button. "You ever try to start a semi-secret occult organization from scratch? Not like you can place Help Wanted ads in the paper." 

"True enough." 

In what seemed like a minute flat, they were getting off at the fortieth floor. Faith led him down a short hallway, opened the door all the way on the end, and said, "Ta da." 

Enormous. White. Giant windows that stretched all the way across the far wall and gave a perfect view of the glittering Manhattan skyline. "Damn." 

"Pretty sweet, huh?" she grinned, before shouting: "Honey, I'm home!" 

"Like I couldn't tell from the way you slammed the door," came a voice from the next room. "How was patrol?" The voice was followed by the appearance of a young guy...with an eyepatch. "Company?" 

"Xander Harris, meet Gunn...do you have a last name, or is this a Madonna thing?" 

"Charles Gunn," he said, crossing the room and sticking his hand out. Xander took it, giving Faith a slightly wary look. "Xander, huh? Heard all about you and the rest of the Sunnydale gang." 

"Gunn used to work with Angel in L.A.," Faith supplied helpfully. 

Xander nodded. "And how is The Incredible Bulk?" 

"Got sucked into a hell dimension," Gunn said. 

"Again? Guy has _got_ to start planning his summer vacations better." 

Faith shrugged her jacket off and slung it over the back of the nearest chair, which she then threw herself onto, legs hanging over the armrest. "Told Gunn we'd help them out while they got settled in the city. That's cool with you, right?" 

"Yeah, sure. Who's 'they'?" 

The front door opened, revealing Spike and Illyria, who'd reverted to her usual look of body armor and blue bits. On cue, Spike said, "Can I come in?" 

A horrified look crossed Xander's face, and he screamed "No!" at the same moment Faith said, "Come in." 

"The 'ay's have it," Spike said, grinning and stepping over the threshold. "Harris, don't look so surprised. You know no one ever stays dead in Sunnydale." 

"I knew you were alive, Spike. I'm just surprised Faith is now freely inviting vampires into our apartment." Xander turned to her and scowled. "I thought we discussed this." 

"Hey, I died saving the world!" Spike protested. 

"Yeah yeah, you're like Jesus in your own special way -- I get it. I just wish I'd gotten the chance to make sure you came back from the dead with the majority of your sanity intact before giving you a free pass to bite me in my sleep." 

"They always like this?" Gunn asked Faith. 

"Better believe it," she said. "I suggest settling in to watch the show." 

But before the show could continue, the door Xander had come through earlier creaked open. 

"What's all the racket out here?" 

Gunn took a sharp intake of breath, eyes riveted on the slight figure framed in the doorway. "Cordelia?"


	2. Perfection Through Silence

(_See Chapter One for notes._)

* * *

**Chapter Two: Perfection Through Silence**

"Bloody hell," Spike said. 

Actually, to Xander it sounded more like "Buh-looooooo-dy _hell_!" Complete with comedic jaw drop. 

Cordelia's face lit up, and Xander couldn't remember seeing her look so thrilled over something she couldn't wear. 

"Gunn!" she squealed, running towards him with arms flung open. 

"Whoah!" Gunn wrenched an axe from his backpack and pointed it straight at Cordelia, stopping her in her tracks. "That's right, hands where I can see 'em." 

"What the hell are you doing?" Xander shouted, an immediate urge to protect Cordy surging through his chest, especially when he saw the hurt expression on her face. 

Xander felt like he'd dropped into some bizarro land in the past two minutes. Spike was in his apartment, some guy he barely knew was pointing an axe at Cordy, and the Storm-knockoff no one had even bothered to introduce was ignoring the drama completely in favor of examining the plastic potted plants in the corner. Huh. 

Gunn advanced slightly, eyes locked on Cordy's. "I don't know about you, but I'm checking for knives." 

"Jesus, G, have you completely lost it?" Faith sprang up and easily disarmed the guy, giving him a hard shove that sent him sprawling backwards onto the floor. 

That still didn't break his stare. 

"Aren't you supposed to be dead?" Spike asked. 

Gunn shook his head. "That _thing_ ain't Cordelia." 

That triggered a look on Cordelia's face that Xander _had_ seen before -- the night in the warehouse, when she caught him kissing Willow. Back then, he couldn't do anything to stop it, but this time he could. Maybe. He walked over and gathered her in his arms, drawing her back. She sagged against him, burying her face in his chest. 

"This isn't how it was supposed to go," she said. 

While Xander tried to figure out what _that_ meant, he caught Faith staring at them, looking like she was trying not to get jealous. Historically, that had not gone well with them. Oh, sort-of-dating a Slayer was _fun_ sometimes. Xander might have tried to avoid dating girls who were stronger than him, but that ruled out a surprisingly large percentage of the world's females. 

He shook his head. Deal with possibly-jealous-sort-of-girlfriend later, deal with the other situation now. "Okay, everybody just...wait. Okay?" It was a little bit like the old days with the Scoobies, Xander thought, steering Cordelia towards the armchair Faith had vacated. Always some kind of insane drama happening. Except Xander had apparently taken on Willow's role of peacekeeper. 

Yay. 

He surveyed the room. Cordelia was sitting on the chair, looking like someone had taken away her hard Snark Queen shell, leaving behind the gooey, messy insides. Of course, even a gooey, messy Cordelia could still verbally massacre everyone in the room. Faith was standing guard over Cordy, hands on hips and lips pressed together. Gunn had slid backwards and dragged himself onto the couch, where he perched warily. The mystery blue woman was still examining the plants. And being dead and resurrected had apparently mellowed Spike out a bit, because he was standing off to one side, clearly willing to admit that whatever this was, it wasn't his fight. 

"Okay, let's start with...why the hell do you think Cordy's evil?" 

"Oh, good, start with an easy one," Faith muttered. 

Gunn crossed his arms. "Let me guess, she showed up outta nowhere one day with no memory at all, right? Total 'who am I?' routine?" 

"Wrong, buster. My memory's fine," Cordelia said, sounding more like the Queen C Xander knew and loved. 

"Except for...well, you know." Faith nudged her. 

"Oh, right. Except for the fact that I don't remember what happened between the time I ascended and when I showed up in Los Angeles again a couple months ago," she said nonchalantly. 

"Exactly!" Gunn said. 

Cordelia sighed. "That's just two years, it's not like I don't know who I am. Besides, how does that make me evil?" 

"Last time something came down looking like Cordy, it had us all fooled. Stuck a knife in lawyer bitch's neck, summoned the Beast to block out the sun, set Angelus free to go around killing and biting on Slayers," he said, glancing in Faith's direction, "before finally giving birth to something that wanted to enslave all of mankind." 

"Doesn't mean this isn't the genuine article, mate." Spike shrugged. "People come back often enough it seems. 'Sides, the version with the evil inside died a couple months ago." 

Cordelia's eyes grew wide. She turned to Xander and said, "I _so_ didn't _die_...right?" 

"I don't know, Cor." He glared at Spike. "It's not like anyone from Angel's team _ever told us about anything_. Like, I don't know, Angelus roaming free again? That might have been nice to know while it was happening, you know." 

"I...yeah, man, I'm sorry," Gunn said, slumping back. "Listen, no one wants Cordy back more than me. How about I give you my side of the story, and maybe you'll see where I'm coming from?" 

Almost an hour later, silence descended on the room. Gunn had narrated the events following Cordelia's ascension two years earlier. Well, mostly. Apparently, Gunn wasn't one to be throwing stones at Cordy for having memory problems, considering he himself was missing a year's worth (Spike filled in that section), and some other memories had been modified (Illyria, previously the fond-of-plants mystery woman, had sorted out the conflicting versions). Spike had also explained that Illyria used to be Fred, another one of Cordelia's friends from Angel Investigations. 

Cordelia hadn't interrupted during that part - she'd cried a little, but most of her energy had been used up earlier, screaming things like "With _Connor_??" and "Impregnated _again_?!" and "Wolfram and Hart?! God, I turn my back on your guys for one second...." 

The story had finished off with an obviously-edited account of the battle a couple months ago, after which everyone got really quiet, waiting for Cordy to react. 

Finally, she said, "Okay. I get why you think I'm evil. But Angel can straighten this out. Or Wesley, he's research boy. Heck, I'll sing for Lorne if I have to. Where is everybody else?" 

Gunn and Spike looked at each other uncomfortably. "Well...." Gunn started. 

"Angel's in a hell dimension," Spike said. 

Illyria stuck her chin out. "Wesley died bravely. I slaughtered the vile creature who took him from me." 

"And we're assuming Lorne's dead, too," Gunn finished. 

More silence. 

Then, Cordelia barked out a short, bitter laugh. "Well, I figured I wouldn't see my friends again the night Skip told me I was moving on. I just didn't think it would be because they'd all gotten themselves killed in the span of two years." With that, she rose and crossed the room, disappearing into the hallway. Her bedroom door slammed shut a few seconds later. 

Faith started to go after her, but Xander caught her arm. "Give her a little time to process this," he said. 

"Yeah, because she needs more alone time?" Off Xander's look, she put her hands up and said, "All right, all right. I'm gonna go make a sandwich then. Post-Slayage munchies and all." She sauntered off into the kitchen. 

Xander looked at Spike, who was watching Illyria, who was watching Gunn, who had found something utterly fascinating about the hardwood floor. 

There was that pesky silence again. Xander had been in uncomfortable situations before -- he'd practically made an art of it growing up. But this one was definitely up there. If something didn't change soon, he was considering poking his other eye out just to get a reaction from the group. 

"So, Harris, last I heard you were in Africa. What happened, couldn't get a decent comic book selection out on the dark continent?" 

Spike was nothing if not reliable when it came to providing a distraction. 

Settling into the familiar, Xander said, "As a matter of fact, Willow made sure I got my weekly supply thanks to magically-enhanced airmail." 

Spike snorted. "So she tip-toes around demon fighting because she's afraid it'll make her go Big Bad again, but keeping you up to date with the X-Men is an acceptable risk?" 

"You've obviously never read X-Men, man. Miss one or two issues and you might as well give it up," Gunn said, giving Xander the universally recognizable nod of acknowledgment of geek solidarity. Xander grinned. 

Spike shook his head. "Et tu, Charlie boy?" 

"Anyway, I came back a few months ago. Giles wanted Faith to set up shop in New York, and she needed a Watcher." And while Xander had held his own impressively in Africa and enjoyed seeing the world, being so separated from his friends and family was hard. Nightmares where Anya clawed at him with bloody fingers, where the dead of Sunnydale rose up and reclaimed him as a mistaken survivor, waking up and knowing he was half a world away from anyone who would understand? Surprisingly not fun. When it finally got to him, he'd sent Giles a desperate telegram begging for reassignment. 

But Spike didn't have to know that. Hell, even Faith didn't know that. She still thought Xander had been reluctantly pulled from the field. Who was he to argue when she wanted to make it up to him with a little lapdance action? 

"So I'm not saying one of my best friends is an evil demon or anything," Xander said, settling into the chair across from Gunn and Spike. "But if she was, how would we be able to tell? I mean, you guys couldn't last time. And I'm not exactly well-known for being able to tell robots and evil vampire doppelgängers from the real thing." 

Illyria removed the corner of Faith's Poe CD from her mouth long enough to say "Cordelia is human." 

Gunn and Spike exchanged looks. 

"You sure about that, Blue?" Gunn said. 

"She has the stink of the Powers on her." 

Gunn raised an eyebrow. "Well, a crazed Power hitched a ride with her last time, so that's not really a good indicator." 

She put the CD down and glared at him. "I can discern humans from demons, you impudent wretch." 

Spike picked the CD up, cleaned Illyria's spittle from the cover with the bottom of his tee-shirt, and put it back on top of the stereo. "If you knew she was human, why didn't you tell us before, love?" 

"You didn't ask," she said simply. 

"She's got you there," Xander said. 

Gunn smiled. "I'm just glad Cordy wasn't around to hear she stinks. Girl gets scary when she thinks she smells." 

"Think that's bad, wait until she breaks the heel of her favorite shoe in the subway station," Xander said. 

"You two are so dead," Cordelia said, poking her head around the corner of the hallway. "Okay, bad choice of words right now, but you don't make jokes about high-end fashions at a time like this, got it?" Xander gave her a small salute. She acknowledged it with a bob of her head, then turned to Gunn. Cordelia bit her bottom lip and said, "Well?" 

Gunn rose from the couch, crossed the room, and wrapped his arms around her. "Good to have you back." 

"It's good to be back," she said, hugging him tightly and grinning. 

Gunn kept his arm around Cordy's shoulders as they walked back to the couch. She'd been pretty quiet the past few months, but Xander had chalked it up to post-_something_ stress disorder, or the effects of partial amnesia. Or, hell, maybe she'd simply changed in the five years since he'd seen her last. It hadn't occurred to him that she'd just missed her friends. Xander felt like an ass for not realizing how important they'd been to her. How would he have felt, leaving Sunnydale and returning one day to find all his friends missing? 

Xander was still pissed that Angel couldn't even pick up a phone to let the rest of them know about Cordelia. Of course, it worked out for the best since then his reaction might have been similar to Gunn's when she showed up on his doorstep a couple months ago. The whole First Evil ordeal had left him with a tendency to greet old friends with a pat on the shoulder, just to check solidity. 

Cordelia had originally turned up in L.A. Found the hotel empty, no trace of her friends anywhere, though the alley behind it was a wreck. After a week, she'd somehow got in touch with Giles and asked for some money and Xander's address. 

Eventually, with some help from Giles's contacts, they'd all heard about the showdown against the Senior Partners. Not that Xander and Faith had known Angel was even working for Wolfram and Hart -- not being told anything was a running theme with him -- and Cordy had been clueless, too. They'd assumed Angel and his gang went underground, that they'd contact Giles when everything blew over. 

They'd assumed Cordy would get to see all of her friends again. 

Faith exited the kitchen, stuffing half a sandwich in her mouth while the other half teetered precariously on top of a glass of orange juice. She stopped when she saw Cordelia and Gunn. "Awright," she said around the sandwich, "you foo kiff and make up?" 

"Well, we do still have to figure out why she's back," Spike said. "Folks don't usually come back without some kind of purpose." 

"What's your purpose, Spike?" Xander asked. That came out snarkier than he'd intended -- he was genuinely curious, but old habits and all. 

Spike just shrugged. "Workin' on that, mate." 

"Do you still get visions?" Gunn asked. 

"I don't know. I mean, I haven't gotten one yet, but that could just be because they were tapped into Angel, and with him being gone--" 

"You have the stink of the Powers on you," Illyria said. 

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "_Enough_ with the stink already." 

"So you might still be vision girl," Gunn said. "Or half-demon." 

"I can't do the cool glow thing or float, so probably not a demon anymore." 

"_Anymore_?" Xander blinked. "When were you a demon? Oh, wait, what am I saying. Of course you were part-demon -- you dated _me_, after all." 

Faith graciously decided to ignore his mini-outburst. "What I wanna know is, where were you those two years?" 

"After he got back from his nap with the fishes, Angel used this axis thing to locate you," Gunn said. "Said you were surrounded by light, looking peaceful. Like you were in Heaven." 

"It's possible, I guess. I mean, if Skip just wanted me out of the way, he could have stuck me in a nice, fluffy-clouds dimension." Cordelia fiddled with the buttons on her shirt. "I don't remember being unhappy or anything. But I don't remember being happy either. I wish I could remember...something." 

"Buffy was in Heaven, y'know," Spike said, flicking his eyes briefly in Xander's direction before looking back at Cordelia. "Maybe you two can compare notes." 

Xander looked at his watch. "Okay, who called an hour and a half in the Time Until Spike Starts Stalking Buffy Again pool?" That came out _exactly_ as snarky as he'd intended. 

"Give it a rest, Harris." 

"Funny, I was thinking the same thing." 

They stared at each other for a full minute before Spike snorted. He crossed the room and lightly cuffed Xander upside the head. "I actually missed this, you know." 

"Yeah," Xander agreed. "The girls just aren't as fun to bust on." 

"That's not what you said last night," Faith said, grinning mischievously before taking a huge bite of her sandwich. 

Spike raised an eyebrow. "Saucy," he said to Xander, winking. "I'd watch this one." 

"I'm all over that." Xander grabbed the rest of the sandwich from her hands and stuffed it into his mouth. 

"Anyway, much as I'd like to continue this little party, sun's up soon, and your apartment's not exactly vamp-friendly," Spike said, jerking a thumb towards the row of windows. 

"I hope you don't think that's an accident," Xander said. 

"You coming, Chuck? Check out the new digs?" 

"I'll meet you guys later. I wanna catch up with Cordy a little longer. That okay with you guys?" he said, looking at Xander and Faith. 

"Our couch is your couch," Faith said. "I even promise I won't knock you on your ass again." 

"As long as you don't make with the pointing weapons at friends," Xander amended. 

"Fait 'nough." 

"Here's the apartment address," Spike said, pulling a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and handing it to Gunn. Then he turned to Illyria. "Okay, Blue, you know the drill -- put on your travelling clothes." 

Illyria tilted her head back, and the blue hair and skin dissolved into brown and white, the bodysuit molding itself into a pair of pants and an orange sweater. When she was finished, she looked like...well, Xander was assuming Fred. A quick glance at Cordelia's pained expression confirmed that. 

Xander had to give Spike credit -- he took one look at Cordelia's face and quickly hurried Illyria out of the apartment, tossing a curt goodbye over his shoulder. 

A second later, Xander's second wind disappeared, and he let out a huge yawn, stretching his arms up over his head and cracking his back. "I'm beat. Gunn, there's some pillows and blankets in the closet if you're staying over." 

"Thanks, man." 

"I'll be there in a few," Faith said, heading back towards the kitchen. "I wanna make another sandwich since someone stole most of mine." 

"Har har," he called after her retreating back. Then, to Cordelia and Gunn: "Slayers. Munchies. It's a scary combo. Anyway, Cor, are you okay?" 

"Totally," she said. 

"You sure?" 

She smiled. "Not so much, but what else is new. Go to bed." 

"See you guys in the morning," he said, heading for the bedroom. 

At least there was one thing he could be sure of -- life was going to be interesting for a while.


	3. Grey Matter

(_See Chapter One for notes._)

* * *

**Chapter Three: Grey Matter**

Ten minutes after she and Spike left Xander's apartment, Illyria said: "How far are we from your Houston Street?" 

"It's pronounced How-stun, pet. Fastest way to let people know you're not native's to say it like a Texas town." Illyria stared blankly at him, and Spike chuckled. "Good point. That's the least of your fitting-in problems. Shouldn't be too much longer. I think you'll like the new place. Got your own bedroom and everything." 

"So I shall no longer be subjected to Gunn's tumultuous nocturnal emissions." 

Spike skidded to a stop, and a second later Illyria crashed into him. He turned to her, jaw agape. "Subjected to his _what_?!" 

"You know." Illyria crossed her arms and made several snorting sounds. "Racketous nocturnal emissions." 

With a sigh of relief, Spike said, "You mean he snores. You...mean he snores, right?" 

"Yes." 

Even the crashing relief couldn't wipe out the disturbing mental images she had conjured for him. 

They continued on in silence for a few more blocks before Illyria tugged on his jacket sleeve, a trick she'd picked up from a child they saw in a North Carolina train station. Spike braced himself, fearing the worst. Her questions often had an Anyaesque bluntness that made them embarrassing at best. 

"What were you before a vampire?" 

Relieved by the apparent normalcy of her question, he smiled a little and said, "Human." 

She cocked her head. "Was that all?" 

"Well, no." Spike drew his jacket around him. "Was also a bit of a mama's boy, bit of a ponce...and I wrote poetry." 

"Poetry. Like the poem you taught me?" 

"Which one is that, love?" 

"Barnacle Bill the Sailor. _Who's that knocking at my door_," she began singing. 

Spike cut her off with a gesture. Wasn't much good in her attracting attention warbling dirty sea shanties at the top of her lungs downtown at 3 a.m. Amusement factor aside. "Not quite as fun as that. Mine bent more towards the artistic. In theory, anyway. They have art in your time?" 

"Darkness was its own art. The beauty in gore-flecked--" 

"Meant poetry, paintings, sculpture...." 

"Oh. From the primordial cesspools I drew together materials to make pieces such as that," Illyria said, pointing towards the giant black cube across the street. 

Spike raised his eyebrows. "You were a sculptor?" 

"This surprises you." She was already walking towards the sculpture, which gleamed black and inviting in the moonlight. 

Spike trailed after her. "No. Well, yes. Sorry, pet, but you didn't strike me as the artistic type." 

"I appreciate art. Even by your narrow definition." She rested a slim hand on the steel surface. "This is beautiful." 

"It spins, you know. Well, needs you and a few of your drunk mates to get it going--" With an effortless shove, Illyria set the sculpture spinning on its axis. Spike had to spring back to keep from getting hit upside the head as another corner came around. "Always forget the super-strength thing." 

"Hey, man, that's one strong little girl you got there," a homeless man said, shuffling past. 

"Yeah, noticed that." Spike wondered how smashed the guy had to be, to be so blasé about Illyria's little display. Then he remembered: it's New York City. He had a feeling they'd all fit right in. 

Well, as much as this band of freaks was gonna fit in anywhere, at any rate. 

Spike managed to get the last board over the window with minutes to spare before sunrise. Not that the sun stood much of a chance against the skyscrapers, but better safe than infuego. He wasn't keen on burning to a crisp...again. 

With his non-flambéing seen to, he set the hammer aside and finally took a good look around the room. For a slum in the Lower East Side, it was almost homey. A few coats of paint to cover the blood stains -- purely for Gunn's benefit, since they added that extra special touch of home for Spike -- and it would be right nice. 

And, most important, it wasn't a condo in hell. 

Three months and he still had trouble believing the magnificent poof was gone. News of Darla's death had reached him -- well, the first time, anyway -- and sure, he always thought she was a tough old bird, but after Romania she'd ran with a crowd likely to up and stake her at any moment anyway. So not much surprise there. And as much as he loved Dru, he wouldn't exactly be surprised to learn she'd ended up on the wrong side of a sunrise while listening to the elves of the moon or some other nonsense. But Angel? Hell, Spike figured _he'd_ go before Angel. And okay, technically he had, but it was still odd to wrap his head around. 

Of course, on his end, some things had gone just as expected. It was just Spike's luck that a guy could die, get resurrected, face down hordes of demons and cross America and _still_ end up face to face with the spawn of Sunnyhell. 

Xander hadn't looked that excited to see him, either. Spike had to grudgingly admit he liked the boy. Liked giving the boy a hard time more, but at least Xander was consistent. Spike always knew where he stood with him -- usually half a second away from the pointy end of a stake, but hey. Wasn't like certain _other_ Sunnydale denizens. Ones who had a tendency to keep a fellow guessing, trying to figure out whether he was a shoulder to cry on, a punching bag, an enemy or a Champion. 

Or all of the above simultaneously. 

At least he had a good excuse to avoid her now. Can't show up at the Slayer's doorstep with the hounds of hell snapping at his heels. She deserved something resembling a normal life, and even if she wasn't gonna choose it herself -- gallivanting about Rome with the sodding _Immortal_ for chrissakes -- he wasn't about to make matters worse by dragging his own problems with Wolfram and Hart along for a visit. 

Of course, when _this_ excuse expired, Spike was well and truly screwed. 

_Los Angeles -- Six Months Before_

"Nice work." 

Not profound, as last words go, but after everything they'd gone through together, a little recognition from the old grandsire wasn't unwelcome. 

They'd made it, slightly worse for the wear. Gunn was slumped in the hotel's doorway, right where Illyria had dumped him before he got ripped limb from limb. The tactic worked, because his heart was still beating, albeit faintly. The God-King of the Western Hemisphere, meanwhile, had taken out most of her Wesley-related frustrations on some unlucky demons and was wearing their guts as garters. A sight he had to stop and take a moment to admire. 

This admiration was made possible thanks to the very demon hordes who'd been sent after them. Turns out? Keeping an army of hell in your employ is all well and good, but dispatching them en masse leads mostly to in-fighting. Right after Angel slayed his sodding dragon and Spike got a few good hits in himself, the demons started turning against each other. 

Twenty minutes later, it was over. Angel wiped the flecks of blood from his cheek, clapped Spike on the shoulder, and gave him an almost-proud smile. The kind of look Spike had been waiting one-hundred and twenty years for. Then he muttered his famous last words, and a second later the sky was opening to vacuum him up. 

The rest was silence. 

Spike didn't need a clock to tell him it was almost 8 a.m. when Charlie boy came rolling into the apartment. A more considerate roommate would give the guy his privacy, let him suss out the strange day's events in peace and quiet. It was the decent thing to do. 

Luckily, Spike was none of those things. 

By the time he rolled out of bed and wandered into the kitchen, Gunn was hunched over the table in front of a steaming bowl of buttered grits from the supply they'd snagged in Georgia. Spike dipped his fingers in the bowl and spooned some grits into his mouth, eliciting a disgusted snort from Gunn which he answered with a smirk. 

Dropping onto the chair across from him, Spike raised an eyebrow. "And how did things play out at Casa Harris?" 

Gunn gave a small smile, which he immediately stamped back out in favor of the usual somber stare. But he couldn't hide the warmth in his voice as he said, "It's good to have her back." The smile crept back, and Gunn shook his head. "Damn, it's good to have her back." 

"We're sure it's her, then?" 

"It's her. It's Cordelia." Slumping back in his chair and giving a sigh, Gunn ran a hand over his head and said, "I just wish I knew why she was back. She wants to know, too. It's killing her." 

"Isn't there a way to tap into The Powers That Be? Even without Lorne or their great golden Champion around?" 

"Naw, man. I mean, I guess it's possible, but all those connections we had, we left them back in California." 

"That is untrue," came a voice from behind Spike. 

Both men turned to see Illyria framed in the doorway of her room, clad only in an overlong tee-shirt. She drew an ice-kissed wrist against her forehead and gazed at them with pale eyes. 

"You know something we don't know, pet?" 

"Always," she replied, and Gunn chuckled. "Your Powers, they are nearby. Too close, if you ask me." 

Gunn and Spike exchanged looks. Spike pushed the third chair away from the kitchen table and gave it a pat. 

"Grab a seat, Blue. I think we need to have a talk." 


	4. Ender

(_See Chapter One for notes._)

* * *

**Chapter Four: Ender**

Faith never was a morning girl. Mornings were made for the Buffys of the world, perky blonde girls whose hair shone in the sun. Girls who considered yoga a good morning routine over crawling home wrung out from a clubcrawl. Girls who daintily ate a bowl of Special K instead of pigging out on hangover-helping munchies. 

Faith _really_ wasn't a morning girl. 

But New York City was different from L.A., and even from Boston. Everyone on the streets of New York at dawn looked like they'd rather be curled up in some dark corner. Being up and about at six in the morning was damned unnatural, even if -- like Faith -- they were really ending their day late instead of starting it early. 

Unnatural or not, she usually loved her early morning jogs. Especially since the air was getting brisk as fall moved in. Hey, seasons turn, huh? She'd almost forgotten after living the California life for so long, but back in Boston, fall had always been her favorite. Bright leaves, crunchy grass, cool air...even knowing what went bump in the night hadn't ruined Halloween for her. Even if New York didn't have much in the way of grass and leaves, it still felt like fall. 

Which was good, because Faith needed something cheerful to concentrate on while sprinting down Broadway after a night full of general insanity. 

After busting out of jail, after nearly letting Angelus chew her neck off, after everything she and Angel went through...it wasn't supposed to end with him in some Wolfram and Hart hell dimension. Not that she actually thought they'd all get happy endings complete with riding off into the sunset. But they all deserved better than they'd gotten. 

Well, maybe not. All the L.A. gang had gotten pretty damn screwed, but Faith couldn't honestly say she was unhappy with where she'd ended up. Sweet penthouse in New York City, and a sweet guy looking after her. Not that it was gonna end well -- judging by how royally she'd fucked up things with Robin, it was obvious she was pretty much doomed to die alone -- but it was nice to play house and pretend everything was okay. 

Xander was curled up on the couch thumbing through a comic book when she got home. 

"Hey," she said, bumping the door closed with her hip and pushing a lock of sweaty hair off her forehead. "I thought you were going to sleep." 

"I thought you were getting a sandwich." Xander smiled through a yawn. 

"You were waiting up for me." 

"That's slander and libel and my only answer to that is dragging you into bed." 

As he got up and reached for her, Faith recoiled. "Dude, I just ran five miles. Not exactly making with the good hygiene at the moment." 

"Oh, please. I kissed you when you were covered in that bright green demon blood a few weeks ago -- you think sweat's a big deal?" 

To make a point, Xander wrapped his arms around her and planted a string of kisses along her neck. Faith made a few half-hearted noises of protestation, but couldn't stop herself from smiling and letting him lead the way to the bedroom. 

She paused at the door, cocking her head. Across the way, in Cordelia's room, she could make out muffled sobs. "Is she okay?" she mouthed, jerking her thumb in Cordelia's direction. 

Xander pulled her into the bedroom and shut the door behind them. Leaning against the dresser, he shook his head and said, "I don't know." 

"Should we go and check on her?" 

"No." Off Faith's puzzled look, he continued, "Cor's pretty vain, even after all these years. She doesn't like people seeing her rattled, and she doesn't ask for help. If we went in there, she'd just slap on an 'everything's fine' smile, and I think we can all agree repression's not the way to go around here." 

"So we're just gonna let her lock herself up in her room and cry?" 

"That was the plan." 

"For how long?" 

"I'm thinking about cutting her off before I have to build and ark and gather two of every animal." Xander paused, waiting for Faith to laugh. She didn't. "Seriously, though," he continued, "I'll give her as long as she needs." 

Okay, Xander generally had better instincts about dealing with people than Faith did, this was a given. But she had her doubts this time. Not like she and Cor were the best of friends, because holy shit was that never gonna happen. And yeah, Xander knew her longer, knew her better. Still…. 

And then his arms were around her waist, pulling her towards the bed. That was something that took getting used to. Sharing a bed. Waking up next to someone instead of kicking them out somewhere around three in the morning. 

It wasn't supposed to happen, of course. If she'd learned anything from her time in L.A. trying to bag Angelus, it was that dating co-workers was a bad idea. The mother of all bad ideas, in fact. And Xander? No shortage of issues there. "Hi, sorry about trying to strangle you to death a few years ago, followed up with a little attempted murder of all of your friends. Wanna make out?" Yeah, not so much. 

It was weird enough getting paired as Slayer to his Watcher. At first, Faith thought it was some kind of sick joke on Giles's part. But Xander turned out to be good for her. He had her back, made sure she was eating more than pizza every day, patched her up when she came home broken. More importantly, he got her out of the house. He'd always say "All slay and no play makes Faith go crazy. Again," while dragging her out to the loudass club that she loved and knew he hated. 

Faith never had to be told to have more fun, but her time with Robin had made it too easy to sink into a life that revolved around slayage. Xander reminded her there's more to life. Meanwhile, being her Watcher gave his life meaning or whatever, so everything worked out great. 

They were gonna remain friends in the non-bouncy way. It was going well, too, until Xander somehow snagged a date with some skinny redhead on week four. Faith wasn't exactly hard-up for manly attention, even if she'd been choosing to not act on it recently, so why should Xander getting a little action bother her so much? Not that it bothered her a lot, she just patrolled extra hard that night. When Xan and the new woman went on their second date, Faith raided a nest in Chinatown and staked 12 vamps. After his third date, Xander found Faith whaling on a Chorkach demon in the middle of Washington Square Park. 

Back at the apartment, one long talk and a bottle of vodka later and Faith was making her favorite mistake ever. 

She'd been thinking friends-with-benefits, because she _so_ didn't do relationships. Robin had proved that, not that there'd ever been any doubt. But a few weeks later, Cordelia showed up, and it somehow seemed only natural for Faith to give Cordelia her room and move in with Xander. 

This new arrangement was making it hard for Faith to pull her usual running-away tactic, which was turning out to be kinda good _and_ bad. Sure, waking up next to someone and getting breakfast in bed was great and all, but eventually Xander was gonna get over this dumb puppy-lust stage and see her for what she was. And where would Faith be then? 

Dusk was already falling by the time Faith woke up. Or, by the time Xander woke Faith up, because there was no way she'd ever get up on her own. 

"Dinner's on the table," he said as she padded past him. 

Faith cautiously sniffed the air. "I don't smell anything burning, so I know you and Cordy didn't cook. Takeout?" 

"Just for that, smartass, I'm not letting you steal any fries from my plate the next time we dine Chez McDonald's. But to answer your question, no. Gunn came over earlier with NYC's newest crazies in tow. Cordy ceded control of the spatula to him, claiming he makes, and I quote, a wicked stir-fry." Xander followed her down the hall towards the living room. "So if we all get food poisoning, blame Cordelia." 

"Always do. How did Spike get here? Sun's still kinda up and all." 

"Great thing 'bout the city." Spike's voice carried down the hall, and when Faith turned the corner she saw him splayed out on the couch. "No one's subjected to any nasty sunlight unless they go looking for it. Bet all the pasty folks running about makes your job a mite harder, though." 

"Naw, the vamps are still easy to spot. They're the only ones not checking themselves out in every available reflective surface." 

"I _know_ you're not referring to me," Cordelia said, brushing past Faith. Her eyes had that definite up-all-night-crying darkness to them, but otherwise she looked impressively fresh for someone who'd just found out most of her friends were dead and that she might or might not be some spawn of evil. 

Queen C graced the room with a brilliant smile before settling down in a chair, her body carefully angled away from where the overgrown Smurf was standing near Spike. Hard to look at the thing that killed your friend - Faith could get that. 

She ignored the stomach rumbling induced by the great smell wafting from the kitchen and walked over to the couch, swatting Spike's legs off and plopping down beside him. "So what gives? I feel like I'm back in Sunnydale, constantly sitting in a house full of do-gooders." 

"Tell me about it," Spike muttered. "Anyway, Big Blue here's got the beat on the PTB." 

"Can we try that again in English?" Xander said. 

Gunn bumped the kitchen door open with his hip and mopped off his forehead with the back of his oven mitt. "I think Spike's trying to say that Illyria knows how to contact the Powers That Be." 

Cordelia's eyes widened. "You can do that?" 

Illyria sniffed. "Of course I can, although I do not know why I should wish to want to." 

"Because it would help our girl here suss out what's been happening to her for the past few years," Spike said. 

Gunn nodded. "And it can help us track down Angel." 

"I still do not see how--" 

"Greater good, pet. Let's leave it at that." 

"We'll figure it out later. For now, can we eat?" Xander said, leading the way towards the dining room. 

Spike stood up, stretching his arms above his head. "For once, Harris, we're in total agreement." As Gunn disappeared back into the kitchen and Illyria and Faith headed over to the table, Spike clapped Cordelia on the arm and grinned. "Just think, princess -- this time tomorrow, you can be face to face with the buggers who did this to you." 

Cordelia gave him a weak smile. "Yay." 


	5. What It Is To Burn

Her mom had been right when she'd said New York City had a ridiculously high crime rate, because the haircut the guy down on Astor had given her the week before had obviously been criminal. Cordelia frowned and shook her head, flipping her hair back and forth a few times before looking in the mirror again. There, okay, that was...not much better. The whole thing was wrong. Too short in the front, too long in the back, and the color...well, okay, that was totally hot actually. Momentary lapse in sanity aside, Cordelia was definitely a brunette all the way. 

_Crash_.

Though she was probably due to go gray any day now.

She stuck her head into the hallway and said, "Everything okay in there?"

"Yes!" came Faith and Xander's voices in unison. Through their closed bedroom door, she heard another crash, followed by a girly giggle that more likely belonged to Xander than Faith.

Cordelia decided to assume that the crash had been the sound of an extremely satisfying training session in progress, because yuck. Somewhat satisfied with her appearance, she gave her hair one final shake then went over to the closet. What kind of outfit was appropriate for visiting the supernatural forces that ruined your life? Jeans, a skirt, a dress...did she own any shirts that said Get Bent?

Not that she blamed them for everything, of course. Like Angel getting sucked into hell? Cordelia was pretty sure she could pin that one on his own stupidity. Angel wasn't the guy you wanted in charge of logistics when it came to big plans, and taking on Wolfram and Hart was pretty much as big as they got. They'd always left the planning to Wes, but apparently he hadn't been wrapped too tight near the end. Again, not the PTB's fault. The only thing Cordelia might be able to blame them for was the whole 'oops, Fred's dead, and now a demon who looks like a Lucky Cheng's reject is living in her body' thing, and even that was iffy.

If anything, Cordelia blamed herself. If she hadn't gotten all caught up in the Champion drama, she might have seen what was happening to her friends and herself before she got sucked into Neverland.

Wesley. She had definitely failed Wesley somewhere along the way. That cold, reclusive creature he'd become wasn't Wesley, not really. Even as Cordelia had stood in Connor's nursery, helping Angel pack up the vestiges of a life that would never be, something inside of her kept screaming that the man responsible for Connor's dark fate would eventually revert to the sweet, kind, caring man he'd always been. Instead, in her absence, he'd grown more distant, landing in bed with, of all people, crazy lawyer bitch. Which was a world of eew, even if Lilah _did_ have an uncanny fashion sense. And now Wesley was dead. Dead, gone, like Fred and Doyle and so many other friends, and for what? The greater good? Cordelia wasn't sure such a thing actually existed.

Before she could meditate further on the sucking black hole of her life, there was a knock on her bedroom door.

"Hey, Cor, it's Gunn. Can I come in?"

"One sec." Okay, nothing said Don't Mess With Me like knee-high, do-me boots, and a killer black mini-dress. Confident that she was prepared fashion-wise, anyway to face the Powers That Be, Cordelia opened the door to her bedroom and smiled. "How do I look?"

"Amazing, as usual," Gunn said, pulling her into a bone-crushing hug.

Cordelia wrapped her arms around him, burying her head into the crook of his neck and inhaling. He smelled like home, like Los Angeles. Like Gunn. A mix of sandalwood and sweat and coffee. A piece of her past, returned.

And then she realized the whole sniffing thing might seem weird to the guy who had accused her of being a demon two days earlier, so she pulled back and flashed him the patented I'm Cordelia Chase And Everything Is Fine grin. The very one she'd perfected during the whole Angelus Lite debacle last year. No, wait...three years ago. _That_ was going to take some getting used to.

Gunn studied her face, then grabbed her by the shoulders and steered her towards her bed. He pushed her into a sitting position and stood in front of her. "Spill."

"Spill what?"

"I know that smile, Cordy. It means you're hiding something. Now," he said, crossing his arms, "we _could_ do that whole 'What's wrong?' 'Nothing.' 'Okay.' 'Don't you wanna know what's wrong!' crazy white folks dance, but we're supposed to be on an uptown subway right about now, so what's up?"

Cordelia sighed, resting her palms against her knees. "I'm just afraid I'll find out..."

"Find out you got body-jacked and gave birth to a people-eating maggot-faced demon hell bent on world domination?"

"For example."

Gunn grabbed her hands and hauled her to her feet. "You gotta admit, it'll be hard to find out anything worse than you already know."

Cordelia shot him a sideways glare as she led the way out of her room. "Famous last words."

As the subway zoomed uptown, Cordelia had to admit that New York had its advantages. For example, Gunn was holding a large bag of herbs and wearing a dress shirt with jeans, the unfortunate side effect of having to flee Los Angeles with minimal time to pack appropriately. Illyria, meanwhile, had apparently gone shopping in Chinatown, because she was wearing an overly large red silk kimono with combat boots, and furthermore had neglected to hide the blue in her hair. And Spike was conspicuous by his very nature. Anywhere else, they would have looked like a pack of carnival freakshow escapees, but they blended right in on the crowded subway.

"These tunnels are crawling with filthy vermin. And also rats. I think I should like to decimate them all," Illyria announced, either to Spike or no one in particular.

Maybe saying they blended in was an overstatement.

Cordelia decided to ignore Miss Hack and Slash, even if she had provided what would hopefully be the way to contact The Powers. Besides, looking at Fred and knowing it wasn't actually Fred hadn't gotten any easier. So instead, she concentrated on Gunn's arm resting casually against hers, living proof that not every good thing about her time in L.A. had been destroyed.

At Columbus Circle, Spike said, "That would be our stop, kiddies." The four of them piled off, then made their way towards the exit. "And this would be my stop," he said, dropping onto the bench by the stairs. "Don't fancy getting burned extra-crispy up above. But I can find a way to get there if you need me."

"I still can't believe The Powers That Be are in Central Park," Gunn said.

"Well, let's see how reliable our source is first," Cordelia replied, watching Illyria make her way up the stairs.

Spike lit up a cigarette and took a puff. "You can trust her."

Cordelia snorted. "Spike, I don't even trust _you_ yet."

"Oh, come _on_. It's not like I ever bit you or anything!" Gunn coughed, and Spike slumped back, looking sheepish. "Oh, right."

"'Oh, right?' What does _that_ mean! When did you bite me?"

"Cordy, we should go," Gunn said, guiding her towards the stairs.

"We are so going to discuss this later," she grumbled, shooting a backwards glare at Spike.

"This is the portal," Illyria said, looking around the small, underground room they'd accessed through a crevasse in a rock formation. "I can sense the higher beings. An emanating stench of power. It sickens me."

"I thought you were all rah rah, yay power?" Cordelia asked.

The demon fixed her with an icy glare. "Only my own, insolent wretch."

"O-kay…Gunn, can we do this? This…whatever we're doing?"

"Yeah." He walked over to the small container in the middle of the room and sprinkled a few herbs inside. "I hope that British guy knew what he was talking about when he gave Xander the instructions. I really don't feel like getting blown up today."

"Oh, Giles is, like, the bookiest book guy ever. Even more than Wesley." She winced when she said his name, and noticed that Gunn did the same. Illyria didn't wince, but her scowl deepened and she crossed her arms more tightly across her chest. "Anyway, if anything, I'd worry that Xander wrote the instructions down wrong. And we all get blown up."

"You're not helping," he said, quickly following it with a phrase uttered in halting Latin. Gunn touched a lighter to the container and it shot flames into the air. A second later, a glowing doorway appeared. "Hey, are you sure you don't want me to come?"

Cordelia shook her head. "No, I have to do this alone," she said, crossing the small room.

Gunn caught her by the arm as she passed, giving her hand a squeeze and releasing it. "Be careful."

She gave him a grateful smile, hoping to exude a calmness she certainly didn't feel, then took a deep breath and stepped into the light.

"Come before us, lower higher being," came a voice from the expanse of white. Cordelia blinked a few times, and as her eyes adjusted she was able to pinpoint the owner. It turned out to be a guy who looked like a walking Oscar statue with streaks of blue. Great.

"You're the link to the Powers That Be?" she asked, trying not to sound as incredulous as she felt.

"In a manner of speaking, Cordelia Chase," said the woman who stepped out of the shadows to join them. What a surprise, she was done up on blue and gold, too. Couldn't anyone connected to the other side be at least somewhat normal looking?

"How do you know my name? Oh, I get it, you're all knowing and stuff, right?"

"Correct," the woman said, tilting her head. "And also, we have met before."

The guy beside her said, "We are responsible for bringing you back. I expect you're here to thank us and pay supplication."

"_Thank you_? Are you _insane_? I came here hoping you'd point me in the direction of whose ass I have to kick, and you just fess up?"

He turned to the other woman and said, "She doesn't seem pleased."

"Gee, ya think?"

The woman raised her hand in his direction, but kept her eyes on Cordelia. "Perhaps because we haven't explained her purpose yet."

"I already know my purpose, thanks," Cordelia snapped. The two creatures stared at her. And stared. And stared. Finally, she sighed and said, "Fine, I don't know my purpose, okay? But I didn't come here to find out my purpose. I came here to find out why you brought me back, and to see if you know how we can rescue Angel."

"The vampire is no longer our ward. He gave up any protection we could have afforded him the moment he signed a blood oath with the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart," the man said.

"Yeah, because you did such a good job protecting him when he was on your side." Cordelia muttered. If they heard her, they made no indication.

"But we can explain our actions, if you wish," the woman said.

"We owe her no explanations for actions that were determined by forces greater than any of us can imagine," the man sniffed.

"Perhaps not, but she deserves to know." The woman took a step towards Cordelia, and it took all of Cordelia's will to not instinctively step back. Sure, the woman seemed nicer than her surly partner, but she still gave her the willies. "Before humans, before time itself, the forces of good and evil came to an agreement."

"I have serious trouble believing that," Cordelia interjected.

"See? The insolence!" the man said. "We owe her nothing."

"I am getting _so_ sick of being called insolent." She held her breath, waiting to see if she'd be turned into a toad. Thankfully, the woman seemed inclined to ignore the outbursts on both sides and continue.

"There would always be skirmishes between the beings of darkness and light, but each side would be given a chance to tip the scales permanently in their favor by appointing emissaries to work their will."

"But only one side at a time may have a representative on Earth," the man added.

The woman turned to him and gave him a teasing grin. "I thought we owed no explanations?"

He cracked a small smile, which frankly unnerved Cordelia more than his scowl, and said, "It _is_ a good story."

"Yeah, fascinating. How does this translate into bringing me back from the dead?"

"When Voca murdered us at the turn of the millenium, it gave rise to a time of darkness."

"In other words, it was the baddies' turn. Wait, Voca…you're the Oracles!" The woman and man nodded. "Angel told me about you! So when you died, evil was allowed to put their representatives into place?"

"Yes. The Circle of the Black Thorn, able to do the bidding of the Senior Partners. They are hardly impotent without their emissaries, but they can only bring the world into a tumbling darkness with the Circle in place. And they almost succeeded this time, until your friends destroyed them."

A strange warmth rushed through Cordelia. It didn't take away all the pain, but knowing Wesley hadn't died in vain, knowing Angel's plan had actually worked? It helped. A little.

"So with the Circle gone, it was your turn again. And this happens, over and over? Someone will eventually kill you and the Circle will return? And then someone will kill the Circle, and we'll be right here having this conversation again?"

"Yes," the woman said. "Although I don't believe you'll be here next time. We are eternal, but the vision-bearers are ephemeral."

"Visions? Oh, no, we've been through that already. Remember? I got knocked out of my body?"

"That was through the tamperings of one not connected to us," the man said. "The demon made you believe you were in danger, made you believe you were to ascend to a higher being. That was not our work. The visions will cause you pain, but will cause no deterioration."

"Oh, so instead of my skull _actually_ exploding, I'll just _wish_ it would. Yay. Why _me_? I was done, over, finito. I carried the visions for three years, and it's not like I have anything to atone for. Haven't you people ever heard of Rest In Peace?"

"We chose to bring you back because your destiny was changed by outside forces," the woman said. "You were not given the change to live the life you deserved."

"You mean the life where I'm the rich, famous, and adored star of my own TV show? Again, been there, done that, didn't like the Crazy Angel side-effect."

"_Again_, lower higher being, those were the machinations of an outside agent," the man said. And boy, did he sound irritated with her. "What my sister means is that you were not allowed to help all the people you were destined to help. You were supposed to be a warrior for the side of good, and instead you were corrupted by one of our own."

"An abominable betrayal. It was up to us to right this wrong," the woman said. "So we brought you back to Earth, gave you a clean slate, enabling you to live up to your destiny."

Cordelia dug her hands into her hips. "Clean slate? Does that mean you guys are responsible for the partial mind-wipe, too?"

The brother and sister exchanged looks, before the brother finally answered. "We thought it would be best if you weren't subjected to…the unpleasantness that unraveled after you ascended."

"You thought it best? What gives you the right to decide what's best for me? I mean, besides divine right and all."

"You truly wish to remember?" The woman studied her, tilting her head this way and that. "You wish to know what happened when you were a passenger in your own body? Or when you were a silent observer on the other side?"

"Yes! The good, the bad, the ugly…lay it on me, sister."

"As you wish," she said.

_This is probably a bad, bad idea,_ Cordelia thought, before wave after wave of images crashed over her.

Blood staining her hands…maybe Lilah's, maybe someone else's. Trapped inside her own, unmoving body. Being offered one last chance to make things right. Watching over her own funeral….

_The moon was visible before the sun had even fully set over the cemetery. The ceremony was small, attended only by Angel, Wesley, Gunn, Fred, Lorne, Harmony, and a shaman whose job entailed setting charms upon the gravesite to keep it from being disturbed. Apparently, a seer's eyes were valuable even in death. _

Neither Angel nor Fred spoke. Fred was too distraught, and Angel remained silent until later that night when he spoke his eulogy directly to her in the privacy and darkness of his penthouse.

Wesley gave a beautiful speech, marked by the subtle grace he'd acquired in the mellowing of his nature post-mindwipe. Lorne sang, and Harmony babbled. Cordelia was touched by everything, and really impressed with whoever they'd gotten to style her hair. There were no real surprises until Gunn stood up to speak.

"Cordelia was nuts," Gunn said, shaking his head, and if ghosts could scoff, better believe she would have. "She really was," he said. "Her filing system was crazy, and she'd always come out and say the absolute worst thing at the worst possible time."

Cordelia was getting ready to see if ghosts could get corporeal long enough to kick an ass or two when Gunn broke into a sad smile, and his voice was thick when he continued. "But she always made me laugh, you know? She'd turn that bigass smile on you and bam, you're the only one in the room. She drove me nuts...but she saved my life. Just by being…Cordelia. She said she was gonna save my life, and she did." A pause. "I wish I could have returned the favor."

The memory faded into the background of her mind, and Cordelia became very aware that she was sprawled on the surprisingly warm marble floor. The Oracles were watching her, and she could swear the woman looked almost sympathetic.

"Are you satisfied in your quest for knowledge?" the man asked.

Cordelia slowly pushed herself to her feet, not completely sure her legs would hold her once she got vertical. It was one thing for Gunn to tell her about the horrible things she'd done as Pod Cordelia, it was another thing to be there, feel it. If she closed her eyes, she could feel the sticky hot blood coating her hands, running down her arms….

"I'm not sure satisfied is the right word for it," she said softly.

"Acceptance will come in time," the woman said. "This is true of both your memories and your destiny."

"Right, that thing again. Okay, I give, what's my purpose?" _Keep in mind I'll probably tell you to shove it up your - oh, crap, can they read minds?_

"You are to act as a guide to Champions, bear the visions to guide their way," the man said.

Something more than irritation but less than full-on rage flashed through Cordelia. "Supernatural switchboard operator again. Great. One problem - you don't have a Champion anymore. He's in Hell, remember? And since you don't seem inclined to help on that front"

The woman cut Cordelia off with a reproachful look. "There are other Champions, and it is their turn now to battle the forces which would destroy the very human existence. Your role in this is critical. Do not think it coincidence that you are in contact with a Slayer, another Souled Vampire, and two humans who have pledged themselves to fighting back the creatures of darkness."

"So, what, I'm supposed to order them around based on the blinding pictures you shove in my head?"

The man turned around and started walking down the adjacent corridor. Over his shoulder, he said, "What you do is your own choice now, Cordelia Chase. Free will."

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Pfft. Yeah, you guys are all about the free will."

"Good luck," the remaining Oracle said, giving Cordelia what probably passed for a kind smile in Vague Power Land before a flash of light overtook her sight.

Strong arms wrapped around her waist, catching her before she could hit the ground. "Damn, that was quick," Gunn said.

Cordelia blinked as her vision returned to normal. She was back in the underground cavern. "It didn't feel quick," she said.

"Their time moves incongruently to ours," Illyria said.

Gunn started to pull away from her, but Cordelia clung to him, not confident of her ability to stand on her own yet, and not wanting to lose the comforting contact of warm skin. "Did you find out anything?" he asked.

"Yeah," Cordelia said. "A few things."

And then she promptly fainted.


	6. Awake

(_See Chapter One for notes._)

* * *

**Chapter Six: Awake**

For the first time in forever, it felt almost like old times. Messages from the PTB, work to do, people to save…worrying about the greater good and not stupid personal drama. Hell, if Gunn squinted, he could almost make out the slightest resemblance between the old crew and the new one. Souled vampire, demon, kinda geeky white guy, cute girl with long brown hair, and Cordelia holding everything together.

There were a few marked differences, though. This vampire, for one, wasn't exactly jumping for joy at his newly-conferred "Champion" status. In fact, Spike was stalking around Xander's apartment, coming dangerously close to Axle Roseing the room, all the while muttering to himself. Gunn could only make out the occasional "sodding," and the rantings had a general "been there, done that, leave me alone" vibe.

Cordelia, meanwhile, was curled up in one of the chairs, holding an icepack to the back of her head, which had smacked against the ground when she'd fainted earlier. Gunn was still kicking himself for not catching her in time. She'd just finished filling them in on everything the Oracles had told her, and now it was up to Xander, Faith, Illyria, Spike, and Gunn to decide what to do next.

Frankly, Gunn thought Spike had the right idea. The PTB had screwed with them plenty, and only an idiot would start blindly following their orders again.

"Well," Xander said, clapping his hands together, "bright side? Cordelia's not evil."

"Not by the demony definition, but the way she hogs the bathroom in the morning is definitely criminal," Faith said with a smirk.

"Ha ha," Cordelia drawled, rolling her eyes. "Anyway, I'm as glad as the next person to be declared human, but there are definitely more important things we should be focusing on."

"Like what?" Gunn asked.

"Rescuing Angel, for starters."

A kind of strange stillness descended over the room. Only Illyria, eating a banana - peel and all – remained unaffected. Even Spike had stopped his relentless pacing, and seemed unable to come up with the proper response.

Thank god for Faith. "Um, Cordy, you know I loved – love – the big guy and all…but he's in Hell. Like, literally."

Cordelia shrugged. "So what? Buffy sent him to Hell years ago, and we got him out."

"We didn't get him out," Xander said. "He just kind of, you know, appeared, because the Powers That Be wanted him to."

Gunn nodded. "And from what you told us, about what the Oracles said, I'm thinking they're not gonna pull the same trick twice."

He noticed Cordelia's bra strap had fallen down, slipping from under her shirt to rest on her upper arm. Without thinking, he used his finger to nudge it back into place. Cordelia shot him a startled look, which gave way to grateful, followed by confused. Equally confused, Gunn blushed and quickly moved his hand to the back of her chair, his hip, the back of her chair, and finally his side. Spike caught his eye, and a glimmer of a smirk graced the vampire's face before he turned towards Cordelia.

"Angel knew what he was getting into, pet. Went down like a—"

"Champion?" Gunn supplied helpfully, smiling. Spike answered with an obscene hand gesture.

Cordelia wasn't having any of his attempt to lighten the mood. She crossed her arms and glared. "So, what, you're saying we should forget about him, just because The Powers That Screw You told us it's a lost cause? Nuh-uh, not buying it."

"No one's saying that," Xander said.

Spike raised a hand. "I am."

"No one but Spike."

Illyria spit a mouthful of banana onto the floor and said, "Angel made a choice."

"_Yeah_, we _got that_, Smurfette. We're not idiots." Cordelia snapped.

Illyria gave her a withering glare. "I disagree with that statement, because you obviously do not understand me. Angel made a choice. Hell cannot hold onto those who chose a noble death. Not for long." She raised her chin slightly. "That's how I know my Wesley will return to me."

"You sure about that, Blue?" Gunn asked. He wanted to get his hopes up, god help him – Wesley, Angel, back from Hell and okay again? – but Illyria wasn't always the most reliable source of information.

As if reading his mind, she said, "I saved you from a pathetic death in that alley, I led you to your precious Powers, and still you doubt me?"

Fair 'nough. "So what do we do? Wait for them to re-appear?"

"Charles Gunn, were I in Hell, I would not wish to return."

Gunn figured that was Illyria for 'Damned if I know.' He noticed Cordelia wincing as she adjusted the ice pack on her head. "Listen, why don't we all just call it a night. Get some rest, get some food…hell, get some beer. Anything. Not like we're gonna do anything tonight but jump down each other's throats."

"Finally, a sensible plan," Spike said, clapping Gunn on the shoulder and turning towards the door. Faith and Xander grinned at each other and took off towards their bedroom with an enthusiasm that made Gunn both envious and a little frightened.

"Are you okay?" he asked Cordelia, helping her up from the chair.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I mean, okay, I feel like I got smacked on the head with a frying pan, and that's physically _and_ emotionally speaking, but I guess it beats being dead, right? Anyway, thanks for coming with me today." She grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze.

Gunn smiled, and was about to leave when he noticed she hadn't let his hand go. "Uh, Cordy?"

She just looked at him for a moment before finally, softly, saying: "Stay?"

"Stay…?"

"Here. Tonight. Please?" She dropped his hand. "I mean, I'm not gonna see the Conjoined-at-the-Pelvis twins until tomorrow night at the earliest, and…it would be nice, knowing you'd be here when I wake up." Before he could fully process the rather odd question which had just popped into his mind, she cut him off with a winsome smile and said, "I promise the couch is super-comfy, and you can barely hear the squishy Slayer sex sounds from here."

"Oi! Charlie boy! You coming or what? I wanna show you this great strip joint only a block away from our apartment!"

Gunn raised an eyebrow at Cordelia and said, "That _is_ a pretty hard offer to top. Got a counter?"

"Pancakes."

"Blueberry?"

"Buttermilk."

"Cooked by?"

"Me."

"Pass." Cordelia smacked him in the chest, hard. Gunn laughed and said, "Okay, okay. I'll stay. But _I'm_ making the pancakes in the morning."

"Deal," Cordelia said, walking towards the bathroom.

To Spike and Illyria, Gunn said, "I'll catch you two tomorrow."

Spike smirked, but said nothing to Gunn. Instead, he looped his arm around Illyria's shoulders and said, "C'mon, little lady. We'll rustle up enough singles to buy you a nice lap dance."

"Lap dance?" she said.

"You'll love it," Spike assured her, closing the door behind them.

Gunn sat on the couch and pulled off his boots. A few seconds later, Cordelia reappeared, bearing a blanket and a Superman pillow.

"Sorry," she said, grimacing as she plopped the latter down on one end of the couch. "I'll let you guess who did the decorating around here."

"It's a'ight. You just go and get some rest. It's been a long day for you. Like, two years long."

"Okay." She stood there looking awkward for a minute, like she wanted to say something. Finally settling on, "Thanks for staying," she gave him a quick peck on the cheek, then hurried off to her bedroom.

Gunn tried to get comfortable on the couch. It's definitely been a long day, he thought, pulling the blanket over him and closing his eyes.

* * *

After two hours of counting sheep, frogs, hamsters, and any other animal he could think of, Gunn finally gave up on sleep, kicked the covers off, and sat up. The sudden movement caused the still-healing wound on his stomach to send webs of pain shooting through his body He grimaced and leaned back, waiting for the wave of nausea to subside. He was about to get up and try his luck raiding the bathroom for pain meds when he heard a door open and footsteps start down the hall. When Cordelia stepped out of the gloom and into the pale moonlight, Gunn felt…relief? Yeah, relief. Cordy made the dark less dark, managed to quiet down those damned ghosts in his head. For a while, anyway.

"Hey." Her eyes drifted to his hands, which were clasped over his stomach, fingers digging into his shirt. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Gunn said, shrugging. "Hazards of the job and all."

"Let me see." Cordelia walked over and sat down next to him, brushing away his hands and lifting up his shirt. "Ouch."

"Not as bad as it looks. Illyria wasn't lying when she said she saved my ass. Coulda been a lot worse."

"Still…is there anything I can do?"

He watched her small hand trace the lines of his skin, scars new and old, and felt his skin warm under her touch. "No, I'm…I'm good."

"Good." She smiled.

The silence went on for about a minute too long, and finally Gunn said, "Yeah, good."

Cordelia withdrew her hand and pulled his shirt back down. "Listen, Gunn, there's something I've been meaning…."

"Yeah?"

"Something…." Her eyebrows knitted together. "Something I've – aaaaaaaugh!"

Now there was a sound he hadn't heard in ages. Gunn grabbed Cordelia by the shoulders to keep her from tumbling off the couch. After a few seconds she quieted down, and a few seconds after that, Xander and Faith came scrambling down the hallway in various states of undress.

"Jesus, C, what happened!" Faith said, hastily buttoning up her shirt.

"Vision," Gunn answered in her stead. "And I'd suggest getting her some Tylenol, now."

"Ay ay, captain, coming right up," Xander said, heading towards the kitchen. Gunn noticed that Xander had his eyepatch on, and given the fact that he hadn't had time to even pull on pants, he had to guess that Xander slept with it on. Weird.

"So what gives? There some big evil to fight?" Faith asked.

"Yup, big evil," Cordelia said. "But I'll feel better about filling you guys in once everyone's wearing pants."

Faith smirked and turned around, shaking her thong-clad ass in their direction before heading back to their bedroom to get dressed.

In what was certain to be their last few moments of quiet for a while, Gunn turned to Cordelia and said, "So, what was it you were gonna tell me?"

"Mm?" She stared out past him into the nothingness.

"Before the vision, you said there was something you'd been meaning to tell me?"

"Oh, that? Nothing, just…that I'm glad you're here and all. Anyway, I'd better get dressed."

Her expression was unreadable as she got up and headed towards her bedroom. A few moments later, Xander came back with a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol.

"Where'd Cordelia go?" he asked.

"I'm not exactly sure," Gunn replied, watching her retreating back. "But I guess it's time to go to work."


End file.
